


Suitable

by blushunder (ingthing)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, But only because Yuri loves him and vice versa, Clothed Sex, Consensual, Finger Sucking, Grinding, Hair-pulling, Kissing, Lube, M/M, Mentioned: Christophe Giacometti, Mentioned: Phichit Chulanont, Mentioned: Yuri Plisetsky, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-GPF Exhibition, Power Bottoming, Sappy, Shopping, Suit Sex, Tie-pulling, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Victor acts like a brat to get what he wants sometimes, Yuri with one U, alcohol mention, victor with a c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/blushunder
Summary: Yuri insists on wearing his old JSF suit to the Barcelona Grand Prix Final Banquet: the event during which the entire world is meant to see that Yuri, the man Victor treasures so dearly, is just as brilliant off the ice as he is on it.Victor decides to take action.Takes place during the later events of Episode 12.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have a love/hate relationship with puns. Also, apparently I really like writing Victor sexily destroying clothing? 
> 
> I dedicate this fic to my burning passion for putting Yuri in a blue suit.
> 
> Many thanks to [yamcat](http://yamcat.tumblr.com/), [jellyfishfics](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishfics), and [fan_nerd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_nerd) for looking over this fic for me!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!

Even if he were given the chance, Victor wouldn’t change anything about Yuri. Yuri is imperfect, and Victor prefers him that way.

His _wardrobe_ , however.

His wardrobe leaves much to be desired.

It isn't the day-to-day training sweats and tees that Victor finds issue with, nor is it the tan duffle coat Yuri wears anywhere it dips under 15 degrees celsius (Yuri is so cute bundled up in it). It's the _travesty_ of a school blazer and tie Yuri had worn to his Grand Prix Series press conference that Victor finds so heinous. True, Victor hadn't been able to pick up a word of what Yuri said during the broadcast; Japanese was still a challenge. But despite the rose-tinted filter of the TV screen, it was evident that the suit had to go.

It’s been several months since that broadcast and Victor (thankfully) has been spared the sight of Yuri's suit for that duration, but his eyes still brighten with hope when they catch on a promising boutique display in Barcelona.

They were out shopping for the afternoon, anyways. Why not buy Yuri a new suit while they're at it? Almost anything would be better than the terribly tailored ensemble waiting in Yuri's suitcase.

Cheerfully, Victor takes Yuri's wrist and bolts towards the store, dragging the protesting younger man through the door.

"Victor, I really don't think this is necessary." Yuri sighs, taking in the store interior with some ambivalence. It's small, but the ceilings are high, and minimalistic brass racks organized by color line the walls.

"Nonsense, Yuri," Victor hums, beelining for the nearest rack and examining the first few garments. "You should look your very best at the banquet! After all, you're _bound_ to be the center of attention."

"I don't know about that," Yuri disagrees, following after Victor as he inches past every item on display. They were hoping for gold this year, but Yuri considers himself more of a wallflower. Heck, he can't even recall much of last year's banquet; it must have been so mundane. He'd finished miserably in last place, adding to his nervousness and plummeting motivation, and all he remembers was being pulled into the hall by Celestino and moping for what he remembers of it.

This year wouldn't be a repeat of that with Victor by his side, but the older man always shines brighter than anyone else (of course he does, he's the best male figure skater in the world and also the _hottest_ ). Yuri has long resigned himself to becoming a side topic when Victor enters a room.

Several hangers are thrusted towards him, and Yuri dazedly catches them in shopping bag laden hands, shaken from his thoughts.

"Here, hold these." Victor meets his eyes, looking very serious. At some point, the salesperson had approached them, and is now explaining the craftsmanship of their wares in heavily accented English. Victor nods along quietly, feeling the buttons of yet another suit between his fingers.

The one saving grace Yuri has from what would no doubt be a very lengthy store visit is the dark leather armchair positioned across from the boutique's changing area, a circle of floor sectioned off by a canvas curtain. He sinks into it with a sigh (European armchairs were always made for people with longer legs) and drops the shopping bags on the floor. He's been carrying them so long his arms are feeling a little numb. The items Victor picked out are draped onto the arm of the chair, and Yuri notes them with an exhale. He can't tell why they're different, but they must be. Victor the shopaholic is nothing less than thorough.

He's almost dozed off in the chair when Victor calls him back to attention.

"Yuri, I've picked some things out for you. Try them on?" He holds up more hangers, and Yuri begrudgingly eases himself out of the chair. He takes all of Victor's choices in with him to the changing "room," nodding thanks to the shopkeeper as they hold the curtain open for him. It falls behind him with a swoosh, and Yuri latches the loop at its end to a wall hook.

Well, Victor's lucky Yuri loves him.

Victor watches Yuri disappear behind the curtain excitedly, and takes his warmed spot on the armchair with a v-shaped grin. He props his fingers on the tops of his knees, shoulders raised in excitement.

He is _so_ looking forward to this.

Several minutes of undressing, under-the-breath cursing over things dropping off the tiny stool, and redressing later, Yuri pulls the curtain back in the gridded black suit Victor picked out for him.

Somehow, Victor knows his size. He couldn't recall ever telling him his measurements, but the suit fit pretty well, though it was a little long in the legs. He's still wearing his crop-necked sweater underneath, and it looks awkward to him as he looks at himself in the full length mirror propped against the back wall. His sweater almost blends into the suit and the grid pattern is far too loud for his tastes.

Yuri glances disbelievingly over at Victor, who's covered his mouth, brows furrowing in thought.

"Why don't you try the next one?" He suggests, clearly unimpressed by the first suit.

Yuri tries on a few more options- a light gray suit that Yuri likes and Victor finds too similar to his own, a brown suit that Yuri thinks makes him look too much like his dad, and a dark gray suit that Victor gives his seal of approval but Yuri is undecided on.

They're nearing the end of Victor's picks when Yuri emerges from the changing room in an absolutely stunning suit, and Victor's jaw drops.

Oh, it's _perfect_. The gorgeous blue wool of the suit, like the depths of a sapphire, brings out Yuri's copper eyes and dark hair. The fabric hugs Yuri's body in all the right ways. It has a vibrant sheen in the light, making Yuri's chest look broader, shoulders stronger, and where the light doesn't hit, the jacket gradates into shadows that accentuate the graceful curves of his torso.

He's breathtaking, ravishing, beauteous; it's as though Victor's love for Yuri has manifested in the form of textile and thread, wrapping itself around Yuri and lifting him to a higher plane.

"Victor, um," Yuri tilts his head, knitting his brows together confusedly at Victor's sudden silence. "This one isn't bad. What do you think?"

Yuri turns around to observe himself in the mirror again, and Victor's gaze falls on the swell of Yuri's ass peeking out from under the edges of the suit jacket.

The breath catches in his throat, and Victor murmurs in awe, "It's exquisite.”

Flushing at the compliment, Yuri turns his head back to address his boyfriend. "The sleeves and legs are a little bit long, but it's not really an issue."

Victor's ready to pull his credit card out and pay for the suit right then and there, but Yuri gives him a halting look.

"At least let me try on the rest of the suits you picked out." Exasperated, he puts his hands on his hips. "I'm not totally sold on this one yet."

Like a kicked puppy, Victor settles back into his seat. He decides that he'll have a snack while he waits, and he restlessly rummages through their purchases, looking for the gourmet candied nuts they sampled earlier that day.

Making a questioning noise when he can't find the green-printed bag, Victor looks up to where Yuri is behind the curtain.

"Yuri, have you seen the bag of nuts? I can't find them anywhere."

"It should be there," Yuri replies, stepping out of his trousers with some rustling. That was unusual. He hadn't set the bags down before the boutique, had he?

Oh, no.

Just as Victor is about to remark that he really can't find the bag of nuts, Yuri bursts out of the changing room dressed in his own clothes, a panicked look on his face.

"Victor, I'm sorry! I might have dropped them while we were resting earlier."

"Oh," Victor's face goes slack in disappointment, and he watches as Yuri puts his hands together in front of his face in apology.

"I'll go look for them right away! Thank you," He bows curtly to the shopkeeper before grabbing their shopping bags and motioning for Victor to follow him.

"Yuri, wait, we haven't even decided on which one to get you yet-"

"If we wait any longer they'll be stolen! I'm going ahead."

Watching his anxious boyfriend hurtle out the door, Victor gapes after him helplessly before turning urgently to the sales associate.

"Excuse me, could you hold that blue suit for us till the end of the week? I'll leave my contact details." Brightening when they nod dumbfoundedly, he takes the pen at the cashier and jots his name and phone number onto a nearby notepad. He slides it across the counter before turning and leaving the store, calling to Yuri and rushing to catch up to him.

 

* * *

 

The flurry of the events that evening and the next few days sweep thoughts of their shopping trip out of Victor's head.

There's a ring on his right ring finger now; it matches the one he'd slid onto Yuri's with trembling hands and a fluttering heart.

He'd bought just the one when they first arrived to Barcelona, when Yuri was busy sleeping at the hotel, but he never dreamed they'd have a matching pair so soon.

It serves as a reminder of their bond, even as hot tears fall down his face the night before the Free Skate.

Yuri takes silver; Yurio takes gold by mere decimal points. Victor's relieved by the results. It's not the gold they wanted, but Yuri asks him to stay with him for another year as his coach.

It's a start, but Victor knows in his heart that he wants to stay like this beside Yuri forever.

They hug for a long time, Yuri's medal forgotten on the floor.

They step onto the rink separately the next day, but meet each other on the ice in practiced dips and lifts. Their hands never part for more than a second; their loving gazes meet at every opportunity in their dance. It's to a duetto, the sequel to the story Victor had last told almost a year ago: the lonely plea of _Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_.

It's not lonely anymore.

They step off the ice together, exhilarated.

Victor's breathless for at least the fourth time that week as he playfully hooks Yuri in by the waist, hips bumping at their sides. Yuri's hand comes up to rest on Victor's waist at the motion, and Victor can't help the cheek-aching grin that spreads across his face.

They're shoulder to shoulder as they unlace their skates, and they return hastily to the nearby hotel. The banquet would be later that day, and they have plenty of time to rest and prepare for it after the morning exhibition. They're going up in the elevator, costumes still on under their coats, and Victor can't help but smile down at Yuri as he catches a glimpse of the shimmering fabric past the collar of Yuri's windbreaker.

"Blue is your color," he remarks, squeezing Yuri's shoulder affectionately. Victor had loved how entrancing Yuri was that morning (more than usual, anyways,) handsome features and twinkling eyes highlighted by the colorful lights of the rink. The blue of the costume had only aided his natural charm further. It was different from the muted blues he wore in his day-to-day. This blue is vibrant, and Victor loves Yuri in it.

He loves Yuri in anything, and might even prefer him in nothing, but Yuri in blue is especially captivating.

"You look good in pink," Yuri replies, squeezing Victor's hand in his own. "You think so?" Victor hums, squeezing back and feeling pleased by the smoothness of Yuri's ring under his fingers. "I'll wear it more often."

The acoustic elevator music is just white noise as they stand in comfortable silence, watching the numbers above the doors light up one by one. At least, Yuri is watching them. Victor's gaze is still on Yuri, and he frowns.

Why does this feel familiar? It isn't being in an elevator alone with Yuri that's throwing him off. There must be something else.

Like water splashed on his face, Victor remembers.

Blue.

The suit.

"What suit?" Yuri asks. Oh, Victor had said that aloud.

"The suit!" Frantically, Victor turns to Yuri, whose confusion is written all over his face. "You know, the blue one from when we went shopping. I asked them to keep it on hold, we have to go back."

Yuri knits his brows together once he realizes what Victor's talking about. "Victor, the banquet is only a few hours away, and I have a perfectly functional suit with me already."

"But you looked so good in it."

"I don't need a new one." Yuri's reply is soft but curt, and Victor sighs disappointedly.

The elevator opens at their floor; they step out and start walking down the corridor to their room. Victor's oddly silent as they make their way to the end of the corridor, a mild pout the only indicator of his dismay. Yuri's okay with this; Victor could get childish if he pushed disagreements, and Yuri hated getting annoyed with Victor. Their disagreements were never really big, but they were both stubborn enough that they made for awkward silences.

Victor doesn't stay disappointed for long. The cogs start spinning in his head, and he turns to face their room door, smiling cryptically.

"In that case, darling," he says, slotting his keycard into the door card-reader and making it open with a whirr, "would you put it on for me? Your current suit, that is."

"I mean, you'll be seeing it in a few hours, won't you?" Yuri points out as they walk into the room.

"I know, but I've only ever seen it on TV, when you wore it for the press conference in September." Victor pleads, turning to face Yuri when the door closes. He has his best puppy eyes on, the ones he knows Yuri can't resist, and he takes Yuri's hands in his own. "And this way, we can iron it early and make sure it's ready for later. _Please_ , Yuri?"

He's playing dirty, but Yuri's expression softens anyway, looking agreeable.

Moving to take the suit from where it hangs in the closet, Victor hands it to Yuri, who accepts it from him. "Okay, but let me take a shower first. I don't want to get it sweaty." Yuri shimmies out of his jacket and undoes the rope-fastenings of his costume to remove it. He heads into the bathroom with the suit and a fresh pair of boxer-briefs in his hands.

"Hang the suit up so the steam gets the wrinkles out. Have a good time!" Victor calls after him, innocently taking in the view of Barcelona from their large window.

The bathroom door clicks shut, and Victor kicks off his sneakers, deciding to slip into something more comfortable.

Shedding his own jacket and costume and hanging them both up, he removes his dance belt and socks and slides on his favorite pair of gray sweats (the ones that Yuri's stared at his ass in more than just a few times.) He won't need a shirt for what he has planned— but he rummages through his suitcase anyway, not for clothes, but for the supplies he'd brought: a bottle of his favorite silicone lubricant and some condoms. They go under the pillows of the bed closest to the bathroom, and Victor does his best to make the sheets seem unruffled. Finished with his preparations, he sits at the foot of the bed with an exhale and runs his fingers through his bangs for good measure. They're a little sticky from the light hair wax he used for their performance earlier, but he knows the tousled look gets to Yuri more than perfectly styled locks.

Eagerly, he waits, barely paying attention to anything on his phone as he scrolls through his notifications.

He notices the trending Grand Prix Final Exhibition tag on one of his social media accounts, and Victor opens it, eyes falling on the first and most popular post: stills from the footage of his and Yuri's performance.

Anyone with sight could see that he and Yuri slot perfectly together. This performance simply proved it. A grin spreads across Victor's face when he comes to a close-up of them, face-to-face, looking at each other like the audience doesn't exist.

_Le tue mani, le tue gambe,_

_Le mie mani, le mie gambe._

Their skate earlier had been perfect. Their hands and legs truly came together in the dulcet duet in ways Victor had been craving ever since the previous year's banquet. Seeing these pictures sends a shiver up his spine, the memory of how right it had felt making him heady with glee.

The bathroom door clicks open, and Victor turns his head to watch as Yuri steps out in his hideous suit.

It's time to set it right.

Yuri's given his hair a cursory towelling, and it's pushed back appealingly. It's not enough to distract, however, from his outfit. Victor stands up, beckoning Yuri over to the front of the bed as he runs critical eyes over the ensemble.

"See?" Yuri puts a hand on his hip. "It's not that bad, right?"

"Hm, you're right," Victor props a fist under his chin, crossing his other arm over his torso. Yuri relaxes visibly— at least, until Victor continues. "It's not bad. It's terrible."

Yuri barely manages an incredulous noise before it’s choked out, the surprise of Victor yanking him in close by the lapels of his jacket stunning him silent. His grip on the fabric is strong, and the brush of Victor’s silvery bangs across his forehead reveals the taller man’s piercing stare as he peers down at Yuri.

“Let me tell you exactly _why_.” A mischievous grin joins the twinkling of Victor’s eyes as he murmurs lowly, and he lets go of Yuri’s jacket, leaving the younger man teetering in place with eyes wide.

They’re still almost chest-to-chest, and Victor runs his palms down the front of Yuri’s torso, fingers catching on the emblem on his chest. It’s embroidered with gold thread, the letters “JSF” clear at the center. What a shame— Victor can’t irreparably ruin a skating federation issued garment.

It doesn’t throw too much of a wrench into his plan, though; he still fully intends to make sure Yuri can’t wear this suit tonight.

“First, Yuri,” Victor begins, dragging out the first syllable of Yuri’s name as he steps back with his hands on his hips, “this suit is incredibly _default_. Doesn’t every skater in the Japanese Skating Federation own it?” He traces his eyes down every seam of the thoughtlessly made suit, and he can tell from Yuri’s silent gaping that his fiancé can feel the burn of his eyes everywhere they land. He reaches out to rub the hem of the jacket between his fingers, letting his voice lilt the way it does when he’s critiquing Yuri in practice. “Such a cheaply tailored mess. I don’t know if I can even consider it a suit.”

Yuri’s clenched his hands into fists at his sides, drying strands of hair falling in front of his flushed face. Whether it’s from the heat of the shower or from the heat of his gaze, Victor doesn’t know, but he’s enjoying this.

“Your lapels are ridiculously low,” He continues, bringing his hands up to pull on the lapels of Yuri’s jacket again, and he pauses, looking critically at the two sides. He adjusts them, raising an eyebrow in discontent. “They’re _asymmetrical_. Really, Yuri, even _Yurio_ would know better.”

“It’s not like I’m dressing to impress right now. You wanted to see it, so…” Yuri mutters, pursing his lips when their eyes meet. His heartbeat is throbbing under his skin in anticipation, and the lazy drag of Victor’s hands up and behind his neck isn’t helping at all. His face is so close to Victor’s bare chest— he hadn’t noticed Victor was half-naked earlier, when he was too worried what he would say about his clothes. He can see Victor’s chest rise and fall, his musk and cologne making Yuri’s head fuzzy as long fingers play with the short hairs at his nape. Yuri licks his lips unwittingly, and Victor leans down to kiss him.

It’s the warmth and wetness and connection Yuri had been longing for ever since they skated alongside each other that morning. Nothing affects him like the taste of Victor he’s grown to love and crave. It makes him weak in the knees; bringing his arms up to wrap around Victor’s neck, Yuri presses his body closer, urgently seeking more.

And it’s _more_ that Victor refuses to give, at least for now. Strong hands push Yuri away by the shoulders, the younger man looking dazed with his kiss-raw lips and ruffled hair.

“Patience, _solnyshko,_ ” Victor all but purrs, running his thumb across Yuri’s bottom lip and smiling when Yuri frowns, impatient. “I’m hardly done critiquing you yet.”

“Why are you such a tease?” Yuri sighs, bringing his hands up to rest on Victor’s shoulders. The other man grins infuriatingly as his hands retake Yuri’s lapels and begin _pushing_. The backs of Yuri’s legs hit the front of the mattress, and he lands on it with a nervous gulp, elbows propping him up.

Victor stands above him, domineering. He rests a knee next to Yuri’s body and coils his powder-blue tie in his fist, yanking it taut and leaning in.

“You must remember,” he says, close enough that Yuri can feel the vibration of Victor’s smooth voice, “my telling you that I wanted to _burn_ this tie when you returned from that press conference.”

“Y-Yeah, I do.” Yuri mutters. Victor had delivered the statement in his usual blasé fashion, v-shaped smile gracing his lips. Yuri hadn’t thought keeping the tie would come back to haunt him later.

“Yet it’s still here, in my hand, right now.” Victor says, observing the tie’s polyester weave. It’s frayed with time. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, I love you. But if this is the only tie you own, you won’t be attending tonight’s banquet with a tie at all.” As quickly as Victor had backed Yuri onto the bed, the tie is slid from his neck and dropped to the floor. He gives Yuri a challenging smile, but no chance to retaliate as he hoists his other knee up to straddle Yuri completely, pinning him down by his hips.

The tent in Victor’s sweats is prominent, though shadowed by his body towering over Yuri’s own. It’s unfair that Victor uses his sweatpants against him, Yuri thinks, but with his mouth dry and gaze fixated on their crotches, he can’t really bring himself to complain. The sweats are riding low on Victor’s hips, revealing the lines that mark the divide between hips and thighs, and it’s too tempting to flip Victor over, slide the terrycloth down, and lick up his warm skin. He’d done it last time they had sex, the night of their engagement, and Yuri moans, remembering the way Victor had buried his hands in his hair and _pulled_ when he did. As if on cue, Victor lowers himself to lay on top of Yuri, and rakes his fingers through the other man’s damp locks.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he requests, tugging lightly to get Yuri to look at him. Meeting Yuri’s gorgeously darkened eyes, Victor laughs and rocks his hips down, relishing the drag of Yuri’s bulge against his own. Yuri certainly seems appreciative, from the groan and lull of Yuri’s head it elicits.

Any protest Yuri has about Victor ravishing him while completely dressed— and in formalwear, too— is forgotten as Victor begins to grind against him steadily, taking Yuri’s mouth with his own and lapping into it. Yuri’s hands fly up to curl around Victor’s neck, thumbs rested on the sides of Victor’s neck as he puts their weight on Victor, coaxing him closer, deeper. It’s so natural for him to simply angle his head into their kisses now. Closing his eyes blissfully and enjoying the slide of their tongues, he takes breaths through his nose without hassle. It hadn’t always been like this. They were slow to start, a combination of Yuri’s inexperience and Victor’s apprehension locking them at a snail’s pace. But the night Victor met him at the Fukuoka Airport had changed things. They began to be surer about _them_ as a singularity, more confident that what they wanted for each other and themselves would be in close alignment. There had been turmoil up to just the previous day, with the conflict over the fate of their relationship following Yuri’s retirement. But Yuri isn’t retiring, and they’re far from breaking up. The gold on Yuri’s finger glints in the light of the bedroom, and Yuri can feel Victor’s ring, almost merging with the heat of his hand cupped just above Yuri’s nape. It’s nice to know that, just like their love, their rings are part of them now.

Victor breaks their kiss to look down at Yuri, a teasing smile playing at his slick lips as he notes his fiancé’s blissed state.

“You’ve gotten better at this,” he notes, face reddened and eyes like blue flames. God, Yuri could just melt in them.

“I’ve had lots of practice.” Yuri replies, letting Victor rise onto his hands. He hums contentedly, carding his fingers through Victor’s hair while he trails kisses down his jaw and to his collar. Yuri frowns when he stops there, shifting downward instead to face his crotch. Victor didn’t usually skip over his chest; Yuri’s learned that nipples are pretty sensitive.

Noticing Yuri’s questioning gaze, Victor stares up at him, offering a saccharine smile.

“I’ll make you feel good, don’t worry.”

“I know _that_ ,” Yuri murmurs, resting his hands on his belly. “I’m just curious.”

“Curious” means that Yuri’s open to more. Victor grins, expression turning devious, and latches his fingers under Yuri’s belt buckle. He pulls it free moments later, easily undoing the latch and snaking it out of the belt loops. Without the offending metal buckle in the way, he rests his nose on what must be the curve of Yuri’s erection and exhales hotly onto it. Even through the cotton of his boxer briefs and the weave of his trousers Yuri should be able to feel it, and Victor rubs his cheek along the bulge, enjoying the hitched breath he gains from Yuri. Casting his eyes up to meet Yuri’s, Victor latches his mouth on the side of his erection and bites lightly, making the younger man flinch. He makes fast work of the button and zip down the center seam of Yuri’s pants and spreads the sides apart as much as he can. Yuri’s gray boxer-briefs jut out from beneath the dark polyester, a small wet patch at the tent where Yuri’s penis is marked through the cotton.

“Wow,” Victor breathes, tracing his fingers along the length of it and feeling Yuri shudder. “You’re pretty hard already.”

Yuri looks down at Victor, deadpan but visibly aroused. “I don’t know whose fault _that_ could be.” He remarks, wiggling his hips under Victor’s hands to tempt him onward. It’s too easy for Victor to grin and lick a line up Yuri’s underwear. He can feel Yuri’s pulse under his tongue, and the smell of him, shower-fresh and distinctly _Yuri_ , is intoxicating; it sends a new jolt of arousal to his crotch as he pulls the elastic waistband away between his teeth and snaps it back.

Yuri grunts in frustration. Victor is an incorrigible tease.

For the next three maddening minutes, Victor drags his lips all over the crotch of Yuri’s underwear, pushing his pants down to mouth at the base of his erection and cup his balls in one hand. Yuri is twitching under his touch, and Victor knows he has his complete attention.

Tugging Yuri’s saliva-wet underwear away and letting his breath dust across heated flesh, Victor marvels at the sight of Yuri. While he loves Yuri when he’s laid bare and desperate, there’s amazing appeal in seeing him like this, disheveled yet clothed, panting and flushed. There’s just the beginnings of Yuri’s stretch marks creeping up from his asscheeks under his bottoms, and the stretch of skin revealed in between his clothing is tantalizing.

“Absolute territory,” He murmurs, taking a moment to gaze at his extremely attractive fiancé.

“Victor, _what_?” Yuri lifts his head up, brows knitted together in disbelief. “ _Absolute territory_?”

“Did I use it incorrectly?” Victor straightens and tilts his head, blinking owlishly at Yuri. “ _Zettai ryōiki_. Doesn’t it mean the area of skin between-”

“I know what it means.” Yuri sighs, letting his head fall back onto the mattress and covering his face with his hands. “Where did you even _learn_ that?”

“It was in my Japanese phrasebook.”

“I don’t think this is the right situation for it,” Yuri rubs his face, hardly believing the conversation they’re having and making a mental note to get Victor better reference material.

“But it _is_ , love.” Victor plants a kiss just under Yuri’s belly button, skirting the tips of his fingers under the hem of Yuri’s dress shirt. “You’re so unbelievably sexy right now,” he hesitates, glancing up at Yuri’s torso, “even if your jacket shoulders are too broad for your frame. We’ll have a jacket made for you that fits like a glove.”

Before Yuri can start to reply, Victor envelops the head of his cock with his mouth, sucking wickedly to make Yuri cry out. The muscles of his belly tighten, making Yuri curl, and Victor loves how the suit buckles with the motion. He lowers his lips down over Yuri’s length shallowly, giving him a few good suctioned drags (the kind that drive Yuri _insane_ ) before coming off him with a smack. Yuri’s hands have dropped to grip at Victor’s shoulders, short nails trembling against his skin.

“Victor,” Yuri gasps, residual warmth pulsing in his groin. “Give me _some_ warning before you do that, at least.”

“I love surprising you,” Victor declares happily, sounding a little hoarse. “Now move up the bed, I want to have more room to work with.”

They shuffle up the bed together, and Victor leans over Yuri to reach for his supplies under the pillow Yuri’s head is rested on. Victor had definitely been planning for this, Yuri realizes, if the lube was already under the pillow. The thought isn’t enough to discourage him from watching as Victor, straddling him over his waist, lazily hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweats and pulls them down to reveal his own erection resting heavily between his thighs. Victor could say all he wanted about Yuri’s supposed “absolute territory,” but Yuri much preferred this slow reveal. Victor’s mouthwatering hip-bones cut lines where they met his strong thighs; they led down to his fine, groomed pubic hair and somehow beautiful cock. Yuri was never really one to sigh and admire dicks like they were masterpieces in the Louvre, but perhaps his love and sexual awakening for Victor had changed things.

Yuri gulps, realizing what he wants to do.

“Victor, please, let me?” He asks, pulling at Victor’s thighs to nudge him closer.

“What is it, Yuri? You can’t assume I know what you want.” Victor lilts, squeezing some lube onto his fingers and rubbing it between them. He glances distractedly down at Yuri as it warms up, and he isn’t at all prepared for the way Yuri grabs his other hand, squeeze bottle dropping to the mattress, and takes two of Victor’s fingers into his mouth, running his tongue up their undersides as he drags them out.

Victor had thought it before when Yuri blew him a kiss at Rostelecom, and he’s thinking it again now: he’s brought out the devil in Yuri— and Victor can’t imagine anything better or sexier.

Yuri’s suggestion sends arousal pooling in his groin, and Victor nearly whimpers. He moves up closer, biting his lip as he trails his saliva-wet fingers down Yuri’s jaw and wipes them on the white of his dress shirt.

Yuri angles his head up to dust hot breath on Victor’s length, and the older man shivers, feeling himself clench against the fingers he’s kneading against his asshole. He loosens quickly, spreading his knees a little wider to pull his cheeks apart, and slides one well-lubed finger in with a cathartic sigh. Penetration was exactly what Victor needed after the past two days of ups and downs, and Yuri, with brown eyes glinting up at him, seemed eager to give. That was the plan from the start; Victor could use a good ride.

It’s all he can do to freeze in place and moan as the warmth of Yuri’s mouth engulfs him boldly, almost halfway down on the first suck. _Fingers_ , Victor remembers; he has to stretch himself. He’s excited but tight, and it takes a few ginger thrusts for him to relax into the sensation. Doing this himself is wildly different from Yuri preparing him. Victor’s fingers are slender and long, but he dares to think that after taking just two of Yuri’s thicker digits, Victor could sit himself down on his cock comfortably. There would still be a stretch, of course, but Victor would relish it, along with the cute scrunching of Yuri’s expression at the sheer tightness. Yes, he loves when Yuri fingers him, and he comes undone so easily under his care. But this, with Yuri’s mouth working tirelessly to match Victor’s own practiced fingers, is the next best thing.

And Yuri could never tire of this. His jaw can, certainly, but it’s when he’s blowing Victor that he can really feel his fiancé unraveling under his control. He likes the taste of Victor’s skin, even when it’s got a post-skate tang of salt like it does now, and the hard, hot feel of it on his tongue tells him exactly how responsive Victor is right now. Pointing his tongue at the slit of Victor’s erection, he hums at the taste of the precome welling up and savors the breaths hissed from between Victor’s teeth.

Slipping a second finger into himself makes it so much easier for Victor to work his hand back and forth. If he isn’t careful, his hand could cramp up, and there’s nothing Victor wants less than an unwelcome pause. He angles his fingers pointedly, grazing past his prostate and sending heat throbbing through his body. With impatience, he takes his two fingers out and returns with three, hips jolting forward into Yuri’s waiting mouth even if Yuri’s hands are secured on Victor’s hips. Victor very nearly comes, a high-pitched cry tearing from his throat as heat flares up his spine.

“Yuri, Yuri, stop.” When Victor pushes at his head, lips trembling, Yuri looks up, leveling challenging eyes to Victor’s as he gives him another good, long suck.

“ _Please_ , darling.” Victor chuckles breathily, finding Yuri’s persistence endearing but a touch overwhelming. He bends, slipping himself out from between Yuri’s lips, and takes his chin in one hand. “I want to come with you inside me. And preferably,” Victor grins as coyly as he can in his disheveled state, “ _without_ a condom.”

He’s ready to remind Yuri that their test results both came back clean, but he clearly doesn’t have to from the way Yuri’s already lust-addled expression shifts, friction-reddened lips dropping open in surprise. His eyebrows arc and pinch together, and he keeps eye contact when his head thuds back onto the pillow.

“ _Fuck_ , Victor.” Yuri wheezes, voice cracking with strain. “I can’t believe you’re trying to kill me.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“ _Yes_ , it’s a yes.” Giving Victor a mock-offended look, Yuri replies. “How about you? Are you stretched enough?” He snakes his fingers back and they bump into Victor’s hand, three fingers stilled inside his ass that make Victor squirm. Yuri sucks in a breath. He knows how wide Victor must be spread from experience, and the picture of Victor’s twitching hole, slicked up and clenching around the intrusion, flashes in his mind; his body throbs at the memory.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Victor laughs, taking his fingers out and resting both hands on Yuri’s chest. He moves back down Yuri’s body, dragging his hands down Yuri’s jacket as he does. Taking one leg out of his sweats and not bothering with the other, Victor sits back, grabbing the (uncapped) lube and dribbling it messily over Yuri’s crotch. A few good slicks up and down Yuri’s erection leave the younger man panting, and Victor leans forward to line himself up, loving the slide of Yuri’s length along the cleft of his ass as he teases Yuri just a _little_ more.

Yuri can’t even throw him a frustrated look before Victor’s sinking down onto Yuri, breath snatched from his throat in a groan. Victor rests heavily on his hips, Yuri’s cock fully sheathed and pulsing inside him. It’s too fast, but Victor savors the burn, wiggling his hips to get himself acquainted with the fullness and pull a curse from Yuri’s lips.

He takes Yuri’s hands, one in each of his own, and grips them tight as he raises his ass and begins to bounce.

The friction is delicious, and it leaves them itching for more.

It’s too easy to build a rhythm, too easy for Yuri to begin thrusting as much as he can in time to Victor’s movements. There’s so much to take in without the condom between them. His eyes catch snatches of Victor in the warm hotel lighting as he moves: the flex of his abs, the tightening of his thighs, the bob of his sweat-matted hair, jostled, that reveals the pretty blush on Victor’s pale complexion. Victor’s teeth are gritted, opening and closing with his gasps as Yuri rubs his prostate again and again. His forearms are shaking from the exertion of pushing down onto Yuri’s palms, but his hips are relentless; it’s like they have a will of their own, and it begs a resounding “ _more.”_

Yuri’s sweating; did he even sweat this hard during his last workout? He can’t tell, but his collar is stifling and he wants out of it. He slows his hips, making Victor whine in dismay, and he murmurs a quiet “sorry” as he tries to shake his hand free. His buttons need to be undone.

To his surprise, Victor has the presence of mind to pull his hand back and kiss his knuckles- which would normally make Yuri melt, but he’s so hot right now he’s _literally melting_.

“Victor,” he grunts, still trying to wrestle a hand free, “It’s too hot, _please_.”

“Don’t wanna stop, _Yuuuri_ ,” Victor moans childishly, rotating his hips to make Yuri’s head go fuzzy. “Need you.”

Yuri’s hands actually still for a moment, throwing his head back and hissing when Victor rises off his length almost fully and grinds back down, but he’s nothing if not stubborn. In lieu of breaking his hands free, he tries to bring both their hands to his collar and twists his hands in Victor’s grip, nearly making it to the first button when Victor yanks his hands back, placing them on his heaving chest and arching his back into the drag against his nipples. He whimpers and clenches his ass when Yuri’s fingers curl, blunt nails scraping across the sensitive nubs.

“Shit, _oh_ , Yuri-” Victor moans, feeling Yuri’s thumbs rub across his chest as he presses his hips upwards. He lets his arms fall from where they hold Yuri’s wrists and puts them behind him on Yuri’s legs, leaning back to ride him in earnest. The new angle makes Yuri struggle for air, and his hands are clenched around Victor’s thighs as their thrusts grow shallow and messy, brutal impact deep and strong as hoarse cries rip from their lungs.

Yuri comes first with a scrunched-up face and a guttural groan, pushing up into Victor impossibly deeper as he spills inside him. His mind goes blank, and Victor nearly loses his grip on Yuri’s thighs, body going taut as the sensation of Yuri coming inside him sends him freefalling over the edge. Somehow, he finds the strength to push himself forward and land onto Yuri’s chest, and he rocks back and forth, making Yuri keen from oversensitivity.

The rest of Victor’s weight comes down on Yuri as his fiancé, exhausted, finally slumps onto his front and breathes shakily.

Victor flops back onto the bed alongside Yuri, clearly finding the heat of both their bodies too much, and grins a satisfied, tired smile.

It takes a little while for Yuri’s blown-apart brain to piece back together, but once the haze of release clears from his head and he sits up to look in the mirror next to the bed, Yuri wants to _strangle_ Victor Nikiforov.

Well, not _really_ (he never would or could,) but his blood is certainly nearing boiling point, cheeks blotchy and red with more than just sex flush.

His boxer-briefs are soaked, his jacket is smeared with cum and _god-knows-what-else_ , and his pants are dotted with lube and a sizeable patch of milky white fluid on the side of his thigh. Even his shirt didn’t escape unscathed. Slick, dark paths are grabbed into the fabric where Victor’s lubed-up hands scrambled for purchase, and no number of tissues could wipe that away.

“Victor,” Yuri croaks, turning to glare at his fiancé, “what did you _do_?”

Oh, Victor is in for it now. He gapes, freezing in place at the actual anger on Yuri’s face.

“I wanted,” he explains lightly, combing his fingers through his hair, “to make sure you had a decent suit for the banquet tonight. And since you didn’t seem fond of the idea of parting with this one, well…”

“Well, now I don’t have a decent suit to wear to _anything_.” Yuri snaps, gesturing at the mess they’ve made of his suit. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Victor doesn’t have an answer to that, so they sit in tense silence for a short while, Yuri gripping the fabric at his knees as he sits with his shoulders hunched.

“I’m sorry.” Victor says, quietly, as he sidles up to Yuri where he sits at the edge of the bed. He rests his chin on Yuri’s shoulder, placing a hand on his upper arm. “That was really uncalled for.”

“I’ll say.” Yuri scoffs, still ignoring Victor.

“I made a mistake and I feel very bad about it.” He sulks, burying his forehead in Yuri’s shoulder.

“I should _hope_ you do.”

“ _Yuuuuri…”_

Yuri really can’t afford to look at Victor right now. He knows that the older man has his infamous pout on, like a puppy who just won’t quit. One look at him, and Yuri knows his resolve will falter. He’s made this mistake before, and he won’t make it again.

Victor moves in front of him and plants himself right in Yuri’s lubey, cum-stained lap and looks up at him with shiny, teary eyes and a sad expression.

It seems, Yuri thinks as he casts a downward glance at his fiancé, that history is doomed to repeat itself.

“Come here,” He offers, stretching his arms out. Victor perks up and grabs around Yuri desperately, shifting up onto his knees to hug him better.

“I’m so, so sorry, _solnyshko_ ,” Victor murmurs, hugging Yuri tight. “I love you a lot.”

“I’m still _mad_ at you.” Yuri grumbles, giving Victor a reprimanding pat on his back. “I’m only hugging you because it’s only fair that I get to transfer your cum onto you.”

“You’ve really got a mean streak, Yuri.” Victor laughs, and he pulls back to see if the mess is on his own torso, too. It’s mostly dried, so there are remnants of crusty fluid dotting his belly, but most of it remains on Yuri’s suit. “Eh, it’s not so bad. Nothing an intense dry-clean won’t fix, but it certainly will take longer than a few hours.”

“I don’t think I could deal with _anyone_ seeing this suit after this.” Groaning, Yuri grimaces at the thought. He’d rather throw this suit into a dumpster fire than let another living soul witness the evidence. Briefly, he wonders if this is how Victor felt about his tie watching the press conference in September, but his tie hadn’t been _stained with semen_ during it.

Victor has a silly smile on, and Yuri is helpless to the peck that’s planted on his cheek. He turns his head to present his lips as a kissable option, and Victor happily obliges. Falling back onto the bed, they lie together, kissing languidly for a few moments before Victor breaks for breath.

“I hate to interrupt this,” he clears his throat theatrically. “But you still need a suit, and I happen to know of a particular one that’s been put on hold at a boutique not so far away.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. Sometimes, Victor is so predictable.

“Alright, let’s go.” He sighs, propping himself up. “You must _really_ want me in that blue suit.”

“More than anything,” Victor nods, sitting up and seeming to realize something. “Oh, but give me a while to clear your load from my ass.” He stands, revealing the trickle of translucent fluid down his thigh as he waddles over to the bathroom. “That’s one disadvantage of barebacking.”

Yuri covers his face and waits for his fiancé to return after he’s gotten dressed, and they head out together. They return triumphantly (or, at least, Victor does,) with a large shopping bag containing the long-awaited suit with plenty of time to spare for a shower and grooming before the banquet.

 

* * *

 

 

Heads turn when Yuri enters the banquet hall, coach trailing behind him.

That’s new.

“Look, darling,” Victor grins, holding Yuri by the shoulders, “you stand out.”

Yuri shifts uncomfortably in his open collar, no tie to close it snugly around his neck. He sighs, “Victor, maybe I should go back and put on a tie. Everyone else here has one.”

“Nonsense, Yuri. You’re dazzling enough as is.” Victor tuts.

Yuri’s ears are tinted red, and Victor grins, watching as his fiancé pauses to take champagne flutes for both of them. Victor accepts one gratefully, and nods when Yuri motions that he’s going over to talk to Phichit a little ways away. Unlike last year’s banquet, Yuri’s hair is slicked back, and his glasses frames match his suit surprisingly well. No one in their right mind would fathom that the suit had been a last minute purchase, necessitated by a messy, heated round of sex.

The dull ache beginning in Victor’s thighs and backside spreads a knowing smile across his face, and he’s shaken from his thoughts when a familiar voice addresses him.

“Victor, what have you done to that poor man?” Chris laughs, resting a forearm on Victor’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Chris.” He replies, feigning ignorance with an amused look. He takes an innocent sip of champagne as Chris raises an eyebrow. It’s too much to keep up the façade, and Victor narrows his eyes, looking very self-satisfied.

“I know a freshly bedded man when I see one,” Chris murmurs, “and tonight, I see _two_.”

Victor chuckles, tilting his head as his gaze floats over to Yuri where he’s chatting happily with his friend. “Let’s just say it took a little persuading to get my fiancé to don that suit for this banquet.”

“ _That_ suit? The little blue number that makes his ass stand out?” Whistling, Chris nods in approval in Yuri’s direction. “Good job.”

Victor simply beams, accepting a pat on the shoulder as Chris’ weight leans off him. Chris is heading in Yuri’s direction, and Victor walks behind him. There’s a twinge of discomfort as he moves, but he’ll be damned if he won’t be there to protect Yuri’s butt from a little groping.

Yuri turns to see Chris coming over, the mop of Victor’s gray hair trailing closely behind him.

“Yuri,” Chris waves, toasting his own glass of champagne. “I barely recognized you, you’re so dashing tonight.” He winks, much to Yuri’s embarrassment. “You’ve got my heart fluttering.”

“Thanks, Chris.” Smiling, Yuri replies. He’s been complimented quite a few times that night already, but he would never get used to it. Victor has a mischievous _I-told-you-so_ look on his face, and Yuri pointedly glances to meet his stare. He hates to admit it, but Victor is right- the suit _is_ perfect on him.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Phichit marvels to Victor, snapping a quick photo of them all together, “I’ve _never_ seen Yuri look this good! Ever!”

“That’s harsh, Phichit-kun.” Yuri sighs. “Didn’t you say you liked my other suit? The one I wore to graduation in Detroit?”

From the picture of Yuri with his diploma sitting in the Katsuki family’s living room, Victor knows he’s referring to his nondescript black suit, one very similar to the one they’d sullied just hours before. He waits for Phichit’s answer, but doesn’t have to wait long before he has to stifle an undignified snort.

“I was just being _nice_ back then. You looked so happy to be done with school!” Phichit reveals, and Yuri’s jaw drops. He appreciates Phichit’s honesty at times, but this is not one of them.

Victor hugs Yuri to himself, grinning proudly. “Well, what matters is that you’re here now, and that you look just as amazing as you really are.”

Yuri grumbles a “thanks” as Victor lands a wet smack on his cheek, much to the amusement of their friends.

The rest of the evening is warm and fun, and they make good memories with the other skaters.

Leaving the party after wishing the others safe travels, Victor and Yuri decide to take a lazy walk by the shoreside, cool ocean breeze ruffling their hair as alcohol hums in their veins.

Victor is tactile when tipsy, favoring draping himself over Yuri instead of lying or sitting. But this time, he swings their connected hands happily, smiling dumbly to himself as they make their way along the pavement. Yuri’s managed not to get wildly drunk at this banquet— a shame, Victor thinks, because drunk Yuri is such fun— but he loves this Yuri all the same. Cheeks flushed from drink, he laughs more than usual; he bumps into Victor a few times, barely letting even an inch come between them as Victor swings their hands.

Victor stops and waits when Yuri drags his feet, and they pause to rest against the barriers set up around the shore. Victor opens a bottle of water taken from the hotel lobby, and offers it to Yuri, who shakes his head to decline.

“You know, Victor,” Yuri slurs, leaning bodily into Victor (who’s too pleased to let him,) “s’not fair.”

“What’s not fair, Yuri?” Victor hums, wrapping an arm around to steady his fiancé.

“You got to…” Yuri trails off, vocabulary failing him. Victor’s about to prompt more, when Yuri’s head snaps up. “You got to _come_ _all over_ my old suit but what do _I_ get to do?”

Victor splutters on a sip of water, and he looks down at Yuri in shock.

“I mean, your suits cost _six thousand dollars_ or something. Per _thread._ You always wear them when I skate and I sometimes want to just rip them-” Yuri mutters, pausing before clarifying, “ _off_ you. I want to rip them off you.”

Sucking in a breath at the confession, Victor can’t find the right words to reply. It’s a good thing that Yuri doesn’t drink often, or else Victor would find his self-control crumbling through his fingers. Yuri is irresistible when he’s honest about his desires.

Victor happens to be fond of the silk suit he’d worn tonight, but he’d be more than thrilled to place it and himself at the mercy of his fiancé’s whims.

It’s too tantalizing a thought, and Victor nudges Yuri up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and walking briskly.

“Victor, slow down,” Yuri groans, stumbling along.

“We’re going back to the hotel, darling.” Victor declares, sounding a little breathy. “And this time, I’m keeping _my_ suit on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Hit me up on my [main blog @ingthing](http://ingthing.tumblr.com/), my [NSFW/R18+ blog @blushunder](http://blushunder.tumblr.com/), or either of my twitters under the same usernames!
> 
>   
> I also drew a [little watercolor painting](http://blushunder.tumblr.com/post/155672966242/he-takes-yuris-hands-one-in-each-of-his-own) for this fic!
> 
> TRANSLATION NOTE
> 
> Солнышко, _Solnyshko_ : Little sun


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